CHAPTER FIVE
TY
S he hasn’t visited another vintage record store—that’s the specific type of music shop she frequents. Not that I can find. There are about fourteen hundred across the country, and I’ve hacked into all the ones with security feeds.
Balzano’s resorts are playing on my wall monitors in a continual loop, so I can keep an eye on those checking in and out. Nothing there either. Liam’s office has the best tech setup, but I’ve upgraded mine over the last eleven days.
Eleven agonizing days. And fifteen hours. That’s how long she’s been missing.
As identity miners, we’ve rarely been called in on a case in the early days. This is where we thrive. Finding the leads others can’t. Even when the paths are ice cold in every direction.
But it’s a lengthy, grueling process. One that requires analytical precision and patience. It’s why we never get involved with clients. Emotional attachment clouds everything. We saw it happen with Ivy during her trial for KORT. She ran circles around us because we were too close, too wrapped up in her pain to remove ourselves.
But knowing and doing are two different things. And pulling back isn’t an option I’m capable of entertaining. Rena is nowhere and everywhere at once—my only focus.
My incessant searching paid off with a flicker of hope. I located a hooded figure—like the one in the alleyway of Stereo Daze—outside of a Greyhound terminal. Smart. Due to the Noires’ affluence, we searched airports and car rentals first. By the time we’d worked our way into trains and buses, we were at the twenty-four-hour mark. And it took another several hours after that to identify the figure that felt like her.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t tell which bus she boarded. So, we followed every route departing within a four-hour window from the time she was spotted. Nothing. I widened it to an eight-hour window. Still nothing.
Six days ago, while combing through Amtrak station footage from the various destinations those bus routes could filter into, I happened upon another figure that resembled Rena. New Mexico. No hoodie this time. The girl’s hair was styled in a short bob and dark. But it was the way the willowy silhouette moved. It’s a gait I’d know anywhere—the slight bounce to her step, as though she’s listening to a song the rest of the world can’t hear.
She never turned her face to the camera, which only confirmed my suspicion. She’s more cunning than anyone would have imagined, and although Axel warned us about her impulsivity, her escape route appears to be well thought out. Purposefully haphazard.
And I feel like I’m learning her. Sensing a pattern.
I just need a small breakthrough.
“Ty.” Liam’s voice cuts through my perusal of more footage. “You need to be done for the night.”
“I’m good,” I mumble, my fingers never abandoning their lightning-fast stride.
The crack of the slamming door has my gaze flicking above the monitor. Liam and Wells stare back at me, both of their faces etched with concern.
I don’t have time for this shit.
“You’re not sleeping or eating,” Wells says.
“Or drinking,” I counter since I haven’t had a drop in eleven days. “Take the wins you can get.”
Liam sets a sandwich and a soda onto my desk before he plunks down on my love seat with a whoosh. “Well, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, man. I can always count on you,” I deadpan. “But I’d much prefer you get off your ass and use those astute observation skills to find Rena.”
“We’re doing everything we can.” Wells is suddenly looming over my desk, swirling a scotch on the rocks so that the ice clanks against the glass tumbler. “All of us have been devoted to this since the minute we got the call. But right now, I’d like to focus on you.”
As I drag my hand down my face, a sigh billows out of me. “Nothing to talk about. If anything, I’m better. Centered. Clearheaded. Not a damn thing to worry about.”
Hyper-focused on the only thing that matters.
Liam barks his you’re-full-of-shit laugh, so I ignore them both and return to my screens.
Wells’s approach is the polar opposite, his tone gentle, like he’s coddling me. “You know this could be a long haul, Ty. You’re exhausting yourself right out of the gate. You’re going to crash or snap.”
That ship has sailed, Chief.
No sense in sharing that.
“What happens when you find her?” Liam asks, clinking his Zippo open and shut.
I go get her.
Stupid fucking question. So, I decline to answer.
He sees my silence and raises me a goading jab. “What if you find her with a man, Ty?”
I kill him. Slow and tortuous. If time permits. But I’m not greedy. Dead is dead .
Probably shouldn’t share that either.
Where’s Gage when I need him? He’d be fielding these questions for me, wearing his crazy like a badge of honor. And no one would bat an eye.
Not me. My lust to end some asshole means I’m retreating into that dark place they claim I go—like it’s a vacation I take. It’s not. It’s a piece of the landscape I call home. I simply choose to ignore it sometimes and obsess over it at others. To each their own.
“Where’s the Big Guy?” I huff.
Wells is still staring down at me, his towering stature casting an irritating shadow on my screens. “He’s headed out west for me. Ivy needs him to shake up the Oregon governor.”
“Right,” I groan. “Indiana Jones.”
Ivy and I have code names for the majority of the politicians we deal with, all based off movies. It colors our often-shady work in a lighter hue. The Oregon governor could be a Harrison Ford double and wears a ridiculous leather hat. Low-hanging fruit.
I really do hate flaking on my work. My family means everything to me. Almost everything. I’m not sure how to explain any of this though. It’s such a jumbled mess of right and wrong. An unabating lure I can’t fight. Nothing else matters besides getting to Rena and destroying anyone who’s caused her pain. Another element I shouldn’t share, so I own my failure instead. “I know I’m not pulling my weight with KORT work—”
“None of us think that.” Wells half shuts the laptop I’m working on to acquire my attention. “You’re doing exactly what you need to be doing. The Noires are certainly grateful. Celeste is handling the shelter. Liam and I are shouldering some of the load for Ivy, not that we’ve mastered all the weird cinema references. But everything is running smoothly. And I have that meeting with New Age Tech tomorrow about their AI software, which will afford us a leg up in finding Rena.”
When he lowers himself into the chair beside my desk, his eyes grow so sharp and heavy that they slice right into my lungs. “You won’t be doing the Noires—or more specifically, Rena—any favors if you lose yourself. If you spin out.”
I’m certain all the Noires would agree that losing myself in order to find Rena is a sacrifice worth making. I’d happily sell my soul to ensure hers was safe.
A phone vibrates in my jeans pocket. Not my primary cell—my emergency line. I always keep it close, but it’s been on my person since Ivy admitted to giving Rena the number. My chest tightens at the thought that she’d reach out to me, heart leaping to my throat. I hoped she might, but expected her to try one of the girls first.
If I check it, Wells and Liam will ask who it is. And since they clearly think I’ve gone mad, they might take it from me.
I can’t risk it, so I bite into the sandwich, humming in appreciation as I chew. A lie. It grows into a sticky doughball in my mouth. Choking it down with a forceful swallow, I cock my head as though I’ve come to a decision. “You’re right. I don’t want to let any of you down—”
“You never let anybody down, Ty.” Liam gapes at his Zippo flame before his gaze meets mine. “You’re the best of us. But you have to let us take care of you.”
Fuck. That stings. It’s a warped assessment but heartfelt nonetheless. They see the good as truth and the ugly as a symptom of twisted fate. But it’s the opposite.
Keeping my eyes latched on to his, I feed him what he needs. “I know, man. Love you guys. I swear I’m good. But sleep is a wise choice. I’ll get back to it in the morning with fresh eyes.”
With that, I turn off all the monitors, tuck my laptop under my arm, stick the soda can in my pocket, and prepare to retreat to my room with my sandwich in hand.
Wells isn’t so easy. He rises, side-eyeing me with loaded skepticism. The man never misses anything. “You’re headed to bed? Just like that?”
“Isn’t that what you were both hinting at?” I volley. “It’s after one in the morning. I’m sure your wives would be giving you both the same speech.”
Not waiting for an answer, I rush out of the office and up to my room. It takes a hot minute because our offices are on the first floor and my bedroom is located on the second floor at the other end. Twenty-seven thousand square feet is a bitch at the moment.
When I finally shut and lock my door, I dump the late-night snack on my dresser, toss my laptop onto my bed, plop down beside it, and open the phone in one fluid movement.
Private: Hi
My pulse ratchets higher. I memorized Rena’s burner number. It’s her. I’m not sure if she knows it’s me that she’s texting, but either way, I want to ease her into talking.
Me: Hey. Are you okay?
It only takes about thirty seconds for a response.
Private: I just need to chat. You said if I needed anything …
Sounds like she does know it’s me. Although I suppose Ivy and Celeste told her the same.
Me: I did. Anything.
Private: Be careful now. I might hold you to that and seriously up the stakes.
That has a flirty edge to it. One I want to dive off of far too much. But the playfulness will help lead me to her, so I go with it.
Me: I’m game.
Private: Brave. We’ll start light for now. You have to promise you won’t tell my brothers I reached out.
My heart hammers into my rib cage. I expected her to request that, but shouldn’t agree to it.
Me: They’re worried about you.
Private: I know. I feel bad, but I needed to breathe.
Me: I can understand that.
Private: So, do you promise? If you can’t, I get it. I’ll find someone else.
Fuck that. There will be no finding anyone else for anything.
It’s easily justifiable though. I’m sure her brothers would want me to promise whatever I had to so she’d give me the information to find her.
Me: I promise.
Private: Okay.
I can almost hear her small voice, see her cogs turning, feel her sweet breath puffing out as she considers trusting me.
Private: I’m lonely. That’s stupid, isn’t it? I’ve craved freedom my whole life, and now that I have it, I’m lost.
Me: There’s nothing stupid about needing people. We all do.
Private: Who do you need?
I’m not sure how best to answer that to convince her to confide in me. The last thing we need is to make this more complicated. Maybe it already is. At present, she’s the only thing I need. She’s all I see. My only mission. My sole craving. I’m not sure if that’s because she’s missing or because she invaded me. So, I settle on vague honesty.
Me: My family. Friends. You.
Three minutes tick by, and panic slithers through my veins. Maybe I should have worded that differently. Included her in the friend category. But I was afraid that would … I don’t even know. What else would we be? I’m about to correct myself when another text pops up.
Private: I sang tonight. I play the guitar and enjoy singing. The lead in a cover band canceled, and I overheard the bartender fretting about it. So, on a whim, I volunteered .
That’s it, Little Moon. Talk to me.
Me: Impressive. Where did you sing?
Private: This gothic club. It was exciting but also overwhelming.
Me: Makes sense. But you did it. I couldn’t do anything like that—perform in front of a crowd. How many people were there?
I open my laptop, prepared to search for gothic nightclubs while I wait for more information.
Private: A lot. It was crowded for a Tuesday. Hundreds maybe. They invited me back, but the crowd was a little rough, so I’m not sure.
My fists clench as black spots ring my vision. I inhale a deep breath to steady myself.
Me: Rough with you?
Private: Forward but manageable.
Me: Were you hurt? Did anyone touch you?
Private: I handled it.
She fucking handled it? My blood boils at the thought of her needing to handle anything. But I’ll drop it for now and remedy the situation my own way once I reach her.
Me: What are you doing now?
Private: Drinking.
Liam’s comment about finding her with a man slaps me across the face. Red. Everything is shaded crimson. My teeth grind before chomping into the well-worn hole I’ve created on the inside of my cheek, drips of coppery blood filling my mouth.
Me: Alone?
Private: Yep. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be lonely.
My rage morphs to worry, stomach knotting. I’m going to fucking lose my mind. She’s not with a man, but drinking alone? Is she kidding me with this shit?
Me: Stop. It’s late.
Private: Not really. I’ll be passed out before midnight.
That shoves me back on track. It’s one thirty here, so that puts her in Pacific time, which narrows down her location to four states. Well, five, including the northern part of Idaho, but it’s doubtful there are many gothic nightclubs up that way that attract huge crowds, so I should be able to rule it out quickly. After a quick search, I find only one, and it’s closed on Tuesdays.
Me: Are you safe? In a hotel?
From what I can tell, there seems to be about twenty gothic nightclubs in California. Five in Washington. Four in Oregon. And seven in Nevada. Doable.
Private: Yeah.
Me: A safe one?
Private: It’s nice.
Her responses are getting shorter. Either she’s tired or she knows I’m probing for details. But a little more could have me to her by morning.
Me: A safe one?
Me: Good view?
Private: Decent. Prettier than at home.
Me: Must be fun to have something different to look at. I enjoy a change in scenery. Cities. Elevations. The ocean. I’ve always liked the water.
Private: A beautiful beach is on my bucket list. The ones near home aren’t the best.
Sounds like she isn’t at one now, which would axe many of these clubs.
Me: Maybe someday. You aren’t walking in a city alone, are you? Is the gothic club near your hotel?
Private: Not too far. I was careful. Thanks for chatting.
Me: Don’t go yet. I was lonely before you texted too.
Private. I wish things were different. I’m tired and super tipsy.
I’ll be delving into the wish things were different comment later, but before she ends this, I go for what I need most.
Me: Tell me where you are. My promise still stands.
Private: I don’t think we’re there yet.
If this were any other scenario, I’d commend her for being wise. She should be leery of whom to confide in. But not with me. Whatever this is, that’s not how it’s going to work.
Me: Text me in the morning so I know you don’t have alcohol poisoning.
Private: Maybe.
Private: Probably not. I wouldn’t text you sober.
Nothing else comes through. That’s all she says. And I’m left wondering what the fuck that means.
She wouldn’t text me sober? Why the hell not?
I send one more message before I snatch my go bag.
Me: I wasn’t asking, but I’ll text you. And sober or not, I expect you to answer.
She doesn’t respond, but that doesn’t surprise me. I’m guessing she’s passed out, just as she predicted.
All I wanted was a small breakthrough. She gave me far more than that. I’d bet my life that she’s somewhere in Vegas, which means there’s a good chance she knows something about Balzano. Since Gage is already headed out west, Wells would want me to let him track Rena down. So, sneaking out under the cover of night is my only option. Because I’m the only one who’s going to get her.
Of course, there’s the tracking device in my neck to contend with. They could come after me or tell Axel where I went, which would essentially break my promise. But I solve that with a simple note left on the kitchen island.
I had to take care of something for a client in trouble. We all know you could hunt me down. But our tracking goes both ways. Come after me or share my whereabouts, and I take it out. You know how much you all mean to me, but this is something I need to do. I’ll be in touch.
As I’m headed out to my car, another text comes through.
Private: Bossy. I can work with that.
A smile breaks across my face, my cock jerking as I imagine various ways that could play out—not one of them a vision I should be entertaining. I’m so fucked.
Stuffing that in the back of my mind, I call in our private flight crew and head out to the airfield. I’m not sure what any of this means. It’s the most fucked-up, twisted, off-limits situation that I could have painted. She’s not just the Noires’ little sister. She’s the secret daughter of one of the KORT chairs. One wrong move, and I could get us both killed.
That’s a matter to reconcile later though.
Five minutes into my drive, my emergency line vibrates in the cupholder.
Private: To be clear, I know what information I gave up. I’m not as naive as people think. I’d like to see what you do with it.
A laugh rips from my chest. Dangerous vixen.
And there’s not a damn thing left to tether me to any realm of sanity.
The Little Moon summoned me.
I’m on my way, baby girl.